Sophia
The soft knock on the door startled me, dragging me away from the warm haze of contentment that had wrapped itself around my little cottage.
The air still smelled faintly of sea salt and coconut oil from the hair cream Mrs. Ross had given me before we left Mauritius.
I was setting out a few plates when I heard the second knock.
Max looked up from where he sat polishing the small wooden table he’d brought from our trip.
“I’ll get it,” he said quickly, already pushing his chair back before I could respond.
I watched him stride to the door, his shoulders slightly tense. He’d been more protective ever since we returned from vacation.
It was sweet, in a way, but sometimes a bit too much.
From where I stood, I could hear the door creak open.
Then a long, heavy silence.
“Max
